Character Profiling

I’ve always enjoyed creating characters, though the process is a long and arduous one. My characters can sometimes become extensions of myself, little puppets with which to play out different worlds and emotions. Over the years, my character profiles have grown from very basic to very complex, and I have heard other writers lament over the difficulty of piecing together believable and genuine characters. Here, for my lovelies, are the parameters I personally use when bringing a character into existence:

13th

In celebration of Friday the 13th, my most beloved of days, I give you the aptly named "13th", a happy little macabre drabble I've just written. Please, lovelies, enjoy.

9 Beloved Words

Time and again, the same set of words seem to pop up into my stories. I love these words. If these words had form, I would hug them. An expansive vocabulary, as it is with most budding writers, is very important to me. Quite often, I am teased about some of the words I use in my day-to-day speech.

The following list is just a small sample of some of the words that I adore:

Jack and Jill

For as long as I can recall, Jack the Ripper has always been an underlying secret obsession of mine. London in the 1800s; a mysterious serial killer; panic. The tale has always been the perfect backdrop for my imagination, running wild and bloodied. It's only natural that I honour my long-standing obsession with a neatly wrapped drabble.

I give you: "Jack and Jill".

Self Portrait

Sometimes, I wonder what people might wonder when they see me. Dyed blond hair; grey muddled eyes behind spectacles; little round nose that doesn’t betray my Italian heritage; pouty lips from some mysterious genetic line. These are the features I hide myself behind, lined with makeup and wrapped in the clothing of normal day-to-day life. Yet what if I didn’t? How would I look if I didn’t drape myself in a soft well-rehearsed smile and polite demeanor?

I would be a scribble; a mess of lines that would wind together to shape my form. The threads of me would be black and twisted; my grin crooked and sinister; the glint in my eyes the colour of blood. I would be cracked and broken, and the seething pulsating insides of me would be bare for everyone to see.

It’s only in my writing that I show who I am and how I think.

Hello, world.